Mr. Crawford seemed to move through the world with a dramatic flair that spilled out onto everything he touched. Darcy hoped for Anne’s sake it would not overrun her.
Ten
“You can be at no loss . . . to understand the reason of my journey hither. . . . you ought to know, that I am not to be trifled with.”
—Lady Catherine, Pride and Prejudice
In the space of four-and-twenty hours, the Ox and Bull shrank. Somehow the inn that had lounged on the village green spreading its cobbled-together wings in lazy imitation of more formal guesthouses now seemed to stand at attention, its walls constricting as it labored to contain the company within.
It was the wind, some said. A summer gale had ruffled the village the full length of that unseasonably stormy day. By dusk, it had blown in a force of nature stronger than any Mansfield had previously known.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
Her ladyship came accompanied by Elizabeth, who nearly tumbled out of the chaise in her haste to escape after the longest ride of her life—measured not by distance, but by the perceived movement of time. Though Lady Catherine had ordered a grueling pace, so fractious had been the atmosphere within the carriage that Elizabeth felt no horses in the world could convey them to Mansfield quickly enough. Her ladyship’s indignation over the elopement, now nursed for more than a se’nnight, teamed with anxiety for Anne’s health and conviction of Mr. Crawford’s negligence to render Darcy’s aunt the most cross passenger with whom Elizabeth had ever had the misfortune of being trapped in an enclosed vehicle.
Directly they arrived, her ladyship strode into the inn, cast an appraising look about her that pronounced the surroundings altogether inferior, and demanded the whereabouts of Mr. and Mrs. Crawford.
“They are in their room, ma’am,” said the innkeeper. “If you give me your name, I will send one of the girls to announce you.”
“I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mrs. Crawford’s mother. Merely identify which chamber is theirs—on this occasion, I prefer to announce myself.”
The innkeeper complied. Lady Catherine marched up the stairs while Elizabeth lingered behind.
“My husband, Mr. Darcy, has also taken lodging here. Where might I find him?”
“I believe he, too, is presently in his room, across the hall from the Crawfords. Will you be staying?”
“Yes.” She hoped their stay would not prove long. She had sent Lily-Anne home to Pemberley with Mrs. Flaherty and Georgiana, and did not want to be separated from her daughter for an extended period.
He glanced up the staircase. “And her ladyship?”
“She requires accommodations as well—the best available. Have you enough rooms for us all?”
“Certainly. We have only one other guest, a single gentleman, besides your party.”
Elizabeth was pleased to hear that with the exception of a lone gentleman, they had the inn to themselves. Though surely Lady Catherine would exercise discretion in her dealings with Mr. Crawford, the general mood of all their party was not sociable.
She went in search of Darcy and found him standing in the hall, along with Mr. Crawford and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“Lady Catherine desires a few minutes’ private conversation with her daughter,” Darcy explained. “She also suggested that you see to her room arrangements.”
Elizabeth released a heavy sigh, but it was inadequate to expel the week’s worth of vexation that threatened to well over. She doubted her ladyship’s “suggestion” had been issued as anything resembling a request. Since Mrs. Jenkinson’s dismissal, Lady Catherine had treated her as a replacement attendant, and Elizabeth had acquiesced more often than she was proud to admit—a sinner doing penance for aiding and abetting Anne’s elopement, though within her own mind she yet defended herself against the charge.
“I have already done so on my own initiative,” she said. “Mr. Crawford, how is Anne’s health today?”
“She was feeling much better—”
Lady Catherine’s muffled voice carried through the closed door. Though her words were indistinguishable, her tone clearly communicated the delight she felt upon being reunited with her newlywed daughter.
“—at least, until a few minutes ago.”
Elizabeth pitied Anne. Standing up to Lady Catherine was difficult enough when one could—well, physically stand up. Anne was unused to directly defying her mother, and her injury rendered her all the more defenseless against Lady Catherine’s verbal assault. As much as Elizabeth wished only to enjoy the exclusive company of her husband and the quiet of her own chamber, she felt compelled to lend Anne her support.
“I believe her ladyship has had sufficient time to wish the bride joy.” She rapped on the door.
“You would divert my aunt’s displeasure toward yourself?” Darcy asked. He appeared fatigued, and Elizabeth recalled that, however unpleasant had been her previous se’nnight, his had been worse.
“I merely return it to its natural course. The new Mrs. Crawford may consider the correction her bridal gift.” She knocked a second time, then opened the door without waiting for a response.
Darcy raised his brows at the presumptive tactic.
“It is impossible for me to sink any further in her ladyship’s esteem,” Elizabeth said before entering. “Join me if you dare.”
Anne greeted her arrival with an expression of relief and gratitude; Lady Catherine, with her usual condemning countenance.
“Is there something you require, Mrs. Darcy?”
“If you have done monopolizing her, I would greet the new Mrs. Crawford.”
Before the startled Lady Catherine could intercept her, Elizabeth went to Anne’s bedside. “I understand congratulations are in order. I hope your marriage brings you much felicity, though I was surprised as anybody to learn of it.”
Anne’s face bespoke confusion. “Truly? But you said you knew what I was about. And that I should accept Henry’s offer if it made me happy.”
“I meant his offer to escort you to the dance floor, not to Gretna Green. I had no presentiment of your eloping. But now you are wed, and we”—she looked meaningfully at Lady Catherine, observing as she did so that Darcy and the other gentlemen had also entered the chamber—“all of us—ought to look forward, not back.”
Lady Catherine’s gaze moved from Elizabeth to Mr. Crawford. It was difficult to determine which of them she held in greater contempt at the moment. “Indeed we must,” she finally declared. “So I would know, Mr. Crawford, how you intend to provide for my daughter. I demand a full reckoning of your worth, because our first order of business will be drawing up the marriage articles your elopement so conveniently avoided. I sincerely hope you did not intend to enhance your income with a bridal settlement from me, for there will be none after the utterly objectionable manner in which you brought about this union.”
Mr. Crawford stepped toward Anne, so as to enter this battle with a united front. Lady Catherine, however, interposed herself. The tactic disconcerted him. For a moment he looked as if he might make a second attempt to reach his wife’s side, but upon further evaluation of his opponent, the errant bridegroom settled for holding his ground.
“I assure you, I am well able to provide for Mrs. Crawford.”
“Anne is accustomed to a certain style of living which must be maintained, both during your lifetime and in the event of your untimely demise.” Her tone suggested that such an event would be considered untimely to only one party of the conversation. “My solicitor has been investigating you and your financial affairs. He will arrive here within a few days’ time to draw up the agreement. Everything from pin money to her widow’s jointure will be specified. I understand you are independent, with property in Norfolk?”
“Indeed. Everingham is a fine estate, and upon coming into possession I made many improvements—”
“It is unencumbered? No entail will prevent Anne or her daughters from inheriting should she bear no sons?”
“Mother!”
“Anne, we must address these matters. They should have been delineated before you wed this man, or any man. You have a fragile constitution. If you predecease your husband, would you have your children left penniless while the son of a second wife inherits everything? If Mr. Crawford dies before you, would you lose your home whilst some remote relation seizes all?”
Though Lady Catherine’s delivery was dramatic, Elizabeth knew all too well that she did not exaggerate the threat that entails posed to women’s security. As Elizabeth had no brothers, upon her father’s death the Bennet family home would go to a distant cousin, leaving her mother and unmarried sister dependent upon the generosity of Mrs. Bennet’s sons-in-law.
“Everingham is unentailed. I may leave it to whomever I wish.”
“What of your spinster sister? Are you responsible for her maintenance?”
Mr. Crawford chuckled. “I would hardly call Mary a spinster. She is still young and I fully expect she will wed, and quite well. But should she not, she inherited a fortune of her own upon our father’s death and can live quite comfortably upon it.”
“Have you other dependents? The estate is not burdened by annuities?”
Mr. Crawford’s expression hardened. “A few superannuated servants receive pensions, but they amount to an insignificant sum. With all due respect, I believe that I have answered enough of these queries at present to satisfy your concerns about Anne’s welfare, and that further discussion of the subject is more appropriately postponed until our solicitors arrive.”
“Due respect? Your decision to elope rather than secure my blessing for my daughter’s hand demonstrates your regard for propriety. As does your infamous affair of last summer. Oh, yes—I know of your liaison with Mrs. Rushworth. Did you think I would not hear of it the moment my solicitor began his enquiries?”
“I anticipated it would come out.”
“It was never hidden! Had you exercised discretion, the affair might be ignored by Polite Society. But you lived together for months, flouting every convention of morality and respectability. You are not a significant enough personage to have been on the lips of every member of the ton, but those who know you, know of the scandal. And now you have mired my daughter in it as well. For centuries the de Bourgh name stood untarnished, until it became allied with yours. Had you not interfered, Anne was to have married a future viscount. A viscount! The only title you bear is that of adulterer—and, Mr. Crawford, I give you notice right now that that appellation had better be obsolete. Your days of philandering are over.”
“I assure you, they were so the moment I met Anne.”
“Your liaison with Mrs. Rushworth is indeed ended?”
“Most certainly. I have not seen her since we parted last autumn.”
“It is entirely by coincidence, then, that of all places you could contrive an accident that requires your continuance in a remote village, the event occurred in this neighborhood—the seat of Mrs. Rushworth’s family?”
“Mother! You cannot possibly think—Henry, do not even answer that accusation. It is most unjust.”
Mr. Crawford regarded Lady Catherine with indignation. “If you believe me to have orchestrated this mishap, to have intentionally caused Anne harm so that I might be near my mistress, you entirely misjudge my character. Even were I capable of such treachery, Mrs. Rushworth and I did not separate on cordial terms. I would be anywhere in England but Mansfield.”
A knock sounded on the door. Mr. Crawford appeared grateful for the interruption. Indeed, Elizabeth, having endured her share of Lady Catherine’s foul mood, welcomed it herself. Henry opened the door to find Mr. Gower.
“Mr. Crawford, your horse and the other belongings you sent for have arrived.”
“Is Magellan settled in the stables?”
The innkeeper appeared confused. “I’m sorry, sir?”
“My horse?”
“I beg your pardon, sir—I thought the servant called it by another name. Charleybane.”
“A bay?”
“With a white blaze, and a scar.”
Mr. Crawford issued an exasperated gasp. “Admiral Davidson sent the wrong mount.”
“I don’t know anything about it, sir, only that your horse is in the stable and a visitor waits for you below.”
“I am not expecting anybody. Who wishes to see me?”
“Mrs. Rushworth.”
Eleven
“He is the most horrible flirt that can be imagined. If your Miss Bertrams do not like to have their hearts broke, let them avoid Henry.”
—Mary Crawford, Mansfield Park
You need not trouble yourself,” Mr. Crawford said to Darcy as they descended the stairs.
“Lady Catherine requested that I accompany you.”
“Ah. From my initial encounter with my new mother-in-law, I apprehend that it would cost you more trouble to refuse. Tell me, so that on future occasions I might better perform the role of a model son, do the members of this family always obey her ladyship’s orders?”
“I comply when it suits my interests to do so.”
“And at present, it suits your interests to play nursemaid? If you offer me a sweet, I promise not to misbehave.”
“At present, I wish to see my cousin restored to her mother’s good will, which is more easily accomplished if Lady Catherine can be assured of your reliability.”
“That suits my interests also. Very well, monitor this meeting with Mrs. Rushworth if doing so will prove my devotion to Anne, though I hardly require a chaperone. I have no idea what motivates Maria’s call, but I can state with certainty that we will not be arranging any sort of tryst.”
Darcy was not quite so certain. His faith in Mr. Crawford was provisional, the elopement having prejudiced him to a degree not easily mitigated. Upon reaching the parlor, however, he was more inclined to accept Crawford’s pledge on the likelihood of renewing an affaire de coeur with Mrs. Rushworth.
The room was empty save for one well-dressed couple. The lady wore a tall hat, short gloves, and one of the most forbidding countenances Darcy had ever beheld. Flinty eyes penetrated the creases of a visage which had looked upon the world for at least threescore years. Was this truly the face that had launched a thousand ships? At nine-and-twenty, Anne must have seemed a debutante by comparison.
“Your friend is more . . . mature . . . than I anticipated,” Darcy said.
“That is not Maria. It is her mother-in-law.”
The much younger gentleman, whom Darcy took to be Maria’s husband, was tall and broad, and might have cut an impressive figure were his frame not weighted by evidence of an abundant table. Darcy guessed him to be of similar years to himself, but the unnatural roundness of his features made his age difficult to judge with greater precision.
Mrs. Rushworth regarded Henry with disdain. “So it is true. You had the effrontery to return to Mansfield.”
“Believe me, madam, I find myself here entirely by accident.”
“I have seen how you conduct yourself, Mr. Crawford. Nothing you do occurs by accident.”
Her gaze shifted to Darcy. She silently assessed him, betraying no hint of the opinion she formed. “Whoever your companion is,” she said to Crawford, “I would caution him against continuing to associate with a gentleman who repays trust with treachery.”
“And if he is married, I hope he knows to keep you away from his wife,” Mr. Rushworth added.
“Mr. Darcy, I am sure, appreciates your caveats, but he need have no anxiety on either of those points. Have you additional advice to offer him, or is the remainder of your business with me?”
“Most assuredly with you. Perhaps he could withdraw whilst the three of us discuss respect for what belongs to others.”
“I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the subject.” Henry turned to Darcy. “Pray excuse us.”
Darcy welcomed the dismissal. He had just endured one conversation between Henry Crawford and an incensed mother-in-law, and did not care to witness ano
ther, let alone one with the added fuel of a betrayed husband. He could predict the course of their dialogue. They wanted the satisfaction of voicing their indignation, and it would matter little whether Mr. Crawford attempted to placate them or silently subjected himself to the tirade. Darcy left them to air their grievances and sought out the far more desirable company of his wife.
He found Elizabeth in their room. Though he wished he were coming upon her in their chamber at Pemberley, after a week of exhausting travel under even more exhausting circumstances, he was glad she was in Mansfield. He never liked to be separated from her for long. He drew her toward him.
“Now that we are alone I can greet you properly.”
She smiled. “Or improperly.”
At present he would settle for a kiss. “You left Lily-Anne well?”
“Yes. Her new tooth is growing in quite nicely. She should give Mrs. Flaherty no trouble now that they are home, and I expect we will be able to join them there soon.”
“Meanwhile, you have abandoned Anne to Lady Catherine?”
“Your cousin pleaded a headache and asked everybody to leave so that she might sleep. Had she not, I myself might have pleaded a headache.”
“Did my aunt submit to Anne’s request?”
“Knowing her to be ever protective of Anne’s health, what do you suppose?”
“I expect she chased you and Colonel Fitzwilliam from the chamber, then remained to dull Anne’s pain with heavy remonstrances.”
“Such seemed her plan, but it was thwarted by the colonel, who suggested she remove to her own chamber to make notes in preparation for the solicitors’ arrival. She is now, I believe, happily occupied in planning the best means by which Anne’s children can eventually inherit Rosings without its ever falling under Mr. Crawford’s control, while at the same time ensuring that Anne and her descendents are irrevocably established as the sole heirs to Everingham.”
“The latter may require some persuasion. One cannot know the future, and while no bridegroom wants to contemplate the possibility of becoming a widower, a gentleman of integrity and foresight would wish to provide for all of his children, including those of a second wife should he marry more than once. The matter of Rosings, on the other hand, should prove a fairly ordinary arrangement for Lady Catherine’s solicitor to draw up. It is already held in trust for Anne, with her ladyship and two of Sir Lewis’s brothers as trustees.”
The Matters at Mansfield Page 8